Monthly Archives: April 2013

Those of you who have been part of the blog world for a while now, know that April is the month where a group of dedicated bloggers have been crusading against a common yet hush-hush malaise that afflicts our society — Child Sexual Abuse.

Forgive me. I think I trivialise it by calling it a societal malaise. In plain truth, it is a crime. A crushingly common one at that.

This group of amazing bloggers have been trying to raise awareness against Child Sexual Abuse for the past three years now and they have been doing a kick-ass job of it. Head over to the blog right now and you will be amazed. It’s all there, from survivor stories to counsellors’ advice to how-to-talk-to-your-children posts and much, much more.

My body is a receptacle of my memories.
My body is a storehouse of memories.
My body,
remembers.

My body remembers
the taste of pink bubblegum ice-cream.
My body remembers
the softness of kittens
and bubbles
popping on her nose.
My body remembers
the touch of snowflakes,
my body remembers
getting wet in the rain.
My body remembers
the warmth of quilts
on snowy, winter evenings.
My body remembers
the embrace of the pool waters
on a hot summer’s day.
My body remembers
the smell of bakeries
and pizzerias.
My body remembers
the smell of incense
and gods smiling benignly.
My body remembers
the first poem it ever wrote.

My body remembers
unwanted hands on my then flat chest
and equally flat butt;
being groped,
almost massage-like,
again and again –
like a piece of meat
under a butcher’s hands.
My body remembers
unwanted kisses
from unexpected
and unnatural quarters –
from a dirty
old
man.
My body remembers
the smell of Pond’s talcum powder
and the sound of his laugh
and look in his eyes
and the feel of his
thick,
heavy,
calloused hands.

My body remembers
her shame.
Her tears.
Her guilt.
Her unworthiness.

My body remembers.

There are days
when I wake up,
wishing for amputations,
wishing for a lobotomy.